


En Ami

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [157]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, Mulder's stupid brain disease thing, Pre-Episode, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-08 21:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10396548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf
Summary: A series of alternating viewpoints before, during, and after the episode.





	

**CGB**

Months of planning. Layers upon layers of subterfuge. Dominoes meticulously arrayed, men placed just so on a chessboard, whatever metaphor you please. A different story for each participant, painstakingly crafted to ensure his or her cooperation. After all, without all of the players working in concert, the whole thing unravels.

How unexpected, then, when I learn of Scully’s visit to Doctor Parenti. Of her unwitting inclusion in a program under my direct purview. So she wants a child, does she?

“Of course none of the samples she brought in are viable, but it’s no matter. We can proceed with something from the next test batch. I’m sure we are getting closer.”

The program is on its last legs, and Parenti knows it. A less experienced man might be fooled, but I am no stranger to sycophants; these are merely the words of a man desperate not to lose his funding. Another failure, and it will surely be another failure, wouldn’t matter in the case of some random test subject, but a failure with Scully? She will not be deceived so easily, and after she exposes every last person involved, Mulder will come riding in on his steed of self-righteousness and burn the place to the ground.

Could we recover from it? Of course. But it’s an expense and a complication I don’t need. I already have enough knives in the air.

“No, use what she gave you. Let it fail, and let her go. I have another use for her, later.”

What I don’t tell him is that her failed conception will serve my purposes quite nicely. An unplanned gift of leverage.

And, ultimately, a means by which I can not only repay her for her cooperation in the larger plan, but potentially drive Parenti’s program into obsolescence.

***

**Mulder**

“I don’t understand. You said I was getting better.”

“I said the medication seemed to be helping slow the progression, as we’d hoped it would. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped the progression entirely, and the differences I’m seeing between your scan from two months ago and the one from today are significant.”

“But how is that possible? I feel fine! I’ve had no symptoms, no headaches, nothing. How can there be something progressively rotting my brain without there being any outward sign?”

“I confess it is puzzling. Given the areas of encroachment, I would expect you to be having all manner of difficulty with your auditory processing. It is possible, I suppose, that you have been experiencing low-level auditory hallucinations and simply haven’t recognized them as such.”

_The walk-ins. Samantha, Amber Lynn, the boy who led me to Samantha’s diary… Scully didn’t see them. What if…? But no, he said auditory, not visual. No, they were real, I’m sure of it._

“So what do we do next? Where do we go from here?”

“I’m, uh… I’m afraid, Mr. Mulder, that I am at a loss. I’ve conferred with several colleagues about your case, and none of us has ever encountered a pathology quite like this before. We’ve exhausted all of the conventional avenues of treatment.”

“Okay, well what about the unconventional ones?”

“There are a handful of experimental therapies being explored, primarily overseas. Monoclonal antibody therapy, various stem cell treatments. But they’re all unproven, still very early in development. You would also have to be selected for the clinical trials, of course, and I’m afraid there’s no guarantee you’ll meet the criteria.”

“So… so, what, I’m just supposed to do nothing and wait around for this to kill me? I refuse to accept that. There has to be something else to try.”

_There has to be. Damn it, I was getting better! I can’t leave her alone, not like this. And how in the hell can I tell her now, when she’s still so sad about the IVF? Oh my god, the IVF. I only agreed to it because I thought I was getting better…_

“I wish I had something more to offer at this point. I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s worth bearing in mind that we don’t know the timeline on this. It’s… unlikely, but not impossible, that you could carry on as you have been for quite some time before you become drastically symptomatic. I know it’s hard to think about things like putting your affairs in order, and while I want to stress that it’s a good idea for you to start considering that, I’m also not suggesting that you give up hope altogether.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not. You may not be able to help me, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone who can.”

***

**Scully**

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit…”

*sound of fabric scraping across the microphone*

“Mulder, I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know where I am, but I think he’s found me out. He has to have found… He changed my damned clothes. He drugged me and moved me from the car, and I’m in a room in… I don’t know, a house or a hotel or something. My, uh… my bag is here. My things are all here.”

*more rustling*

“But he put me in pajamas, which means he has to have seen the wire. I don’t know why he didn’t take it. I don’t know if he’s even still here. Maybe he saw the wire and decided the deal’s off. I’m so angry, I’m so… I’m furious with myself for letting my guard down.”

*unintelligible*

“--orry this turned out to be nothing but a waste of time. I thought… I really thought I could get this cure, could give other cancer patients the same chance I got. The same chance Jason McPeck got. But I’m done making deals with CGB Spender. Once I figure out where in the hell I am, I’m coming home.”

***

**CGB**

Of course I drugged her.

Oh, she fell asleep on her own, that much was true. But even as tired as she was, she never would have slept through being carried to the house.  Couldn’t have her waking up before I had a chance to give her my gift, could I?

It's miraculous technology, the chip in her neck. And it's not even the latest model. Of course, that's of little matter in light of advancements such as software patches and wireless data transfer. The human body is a complex machine, but once you hold the key to reprogram it at will, well… anything is possible.

Once-depleted ovaries, for example, could easily be stimulated to produce anew.

And given her previous exposure to both the alien virus and vaccine, given Mulder's exposure to the same, if the two of them were to conceive a child naturally, they just might be able to accomplish that which we’ve spent decades trying and failing to do artificially.

My lies to her in the car were by design, of course. I know full well the degree to which the two of them have become entangled. But a claim to believe otherwise was carefully calculated to let _her_ believe she still had secrets. To let her believe, in a sense, that she had the upper hand, just as I let her believe, for a time, that I didn't know about the wire.

It’s admirable, if unfortunate, that she is capable of such deceit. Having her complete trust would make things easier, but I suppose I have more respect for her, knowing she is smart enough to protect herself, to not stroll willingly into danger without taking precautionary measures.

Still, it was time to let her know she’s not fooled me. I could have put her into bed fully clothed, preserved the illusion of ignorance. Instead, I chose to send a message: I know what she’s up to, and I’m not threatened by it in the least.

Well, that and I truly did want her to be comfortable. Not _every_ word out of my mouth is a lie.

It was a calculated risk -- she nearly decided to walk away this morning -- but I gambled on her fundamentally altruistic nature. For the moment, at least, it remains a bet of the safest sort.

***

**Mulder**

“It’s not her.”

“Mulder--”

“I’m telling you, it’s not her! It’s impossible. Look at the date and time stamp on this. There’s no way she could have sent this email because we were in California then, and she didn’t even have her laptop on that trip.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Frohike, of course I’m sure! And this one. This is from a week ago. At 11:35pm, we were sitting together at her kitchen table. She never even left the room. It’s. Not. Her.”

“Okay, well if you’re a hundred percent certain she didn’t write these, then who did?”

“You guys tell me. I thought you were the hacking experts. Can you figure out who gained access to her account?”

“Depends on how much they covered their tracks. This could take some time.”

“She may not have much time. Someone has gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to set her up, and if it’s the son of a bitch she’s with right now, he won’t think twice about using her as bait. We’ve got to figure out if this is related to wherever she’s gone or if it’s a whole separate operation.”

“Look, man, you know I’m the last guy on Earth who wants to see her get hurt. I promise you, we’ll try to get some answers for you as soon as we can.”

“I guess we’re having a slumber party at my place, then. You want me to put coffee on?”

***

**Scully**

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Scully! Where are you, are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m southbound on Highway 209, on my way home. I should be there in about four and a half hours.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?”

_More than you even know._ “Look, I took the necessary precautions. I’m unharmed, and once I get back, I will be happy to walk you through exactly why I did what I did. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss it any further over the phone.”

“Call me every hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’m sending out the highway patrol.”

“Mulder--”

“He could have had you killed!”

“But he didn’t! So you can stop acting like you’ve never put yourself in danger for the greater good.”

“...”

“I’ll call you in an hour.” *click*

***

**CGB**

It might seem like a long way to go, just to kill a man. On the face of it, certainly, there could have been simpler methods. But they would have been messier, and far less comprehensive.

It wasn’t just the killing of the man, after all. It wasn’t even that we needed the research. Everything on that disc he handed Scully, I already have.

I am not actually dying. That was another necessary lie.

Cobra worked for the project, once. He was one of the brighter ones, making connections others couldn’t, spinning gold from the virtual straw we gave him. Bits of translated hieroglyphs from the Ivory Coast craft. Biological and genetic data from an exterminated EBE. Nanoprocessor technology from another recovered ship. The advancements he made in a few short years were astounding.

Unfortunately, his genius ultimately became a liability. He developed a conscience, which is, shall we say, problematic in this line of work. We could tell he was getting ready to bolt, that he’d already smuggled data out of the office, data we absolutely couldn’t risk falling into the wrong hands. In the end, it was merely a matter of making sure he bolted in the right direction.

Enter Dana Scully.

Even the most brilliant of men can be led around by the nose by a smart and beautiful woman. Impersonating her via email was child’s play, and though it may have taken months of careful grooming, “Scully” eventually convinced Cobra to destroy all but one copy of the research with which he’d absconded, to turn that final copy over to “her” for safekeeping. Luring him out into the open took some skill, I’m not afraid to boast, but it would require Scully’s actual physical presence in the end. And there were those who wanted to see her eliminated as well, once she had completed what we needed of her.

Perhaps I am growing soft and sentimental in my old age. Or perhaps I am just as susceptible to her charms as Cobra was. I can couch my decision to countermand her kill order in any number of justifications, all of them valid, but it remains possible that I am simply losing my stomach for it.

Why, then, didn’t I let her keep the data? I confess I was tempted. If there were ever a person to trust with it, someone who would truly only use it with the best of intentions, it would be her. But maybe that’s sentimental of me as well. The sad truth is that the world itself cannot support the possibility of so many cured. Six billion people on this Earth, and how many suffer already from starvation? How many overcrowded, over-polluted cities could handle a population that never got sick and died?

This is why there have to be men like me, men holding all the cards, who make the difficult decisions for the greater good. It is a lonely existence; if I had my life to do over again, I… well, I don’t know if all this power truly is worth the sacrifice. Some days I really don’t know.

***

**Mulder**

_I had hoped to never have to write in this journal again, Dana. I foolishly believed I had won, or dodged a bullet at least. I guess I only heard what I wanted to hear._

_Turns out that “not worse” is not the same thing as “better.”_

_I know I made a lot of promises. I hope one day you will understand why I’m continuing to break them now._

_If I had never told you about the ova I kept, if you had simply carried on exploring other options, you would have been spared all that needless heartache. You might have conceived on the first try with a donor egg and the sperm of a man not slowly dying of some unprecedented brain disease. Now I fear you might be unwilling to try again, after how badly this went._

_The doctors say they can’t help me. I’ve got a whole drawer of cases that say doctors aren’t the only option. Once I have exhausted those avenues too, or once the progression of my condition is such that I can no longer hide it from you, that is when I will tell you._

_I know that you already feel bad about the empty disc, about being promised this miracle cure only to have it yanked away like the football in a Peanuts comic strip. I remember what it was like, finding the chip that cured your cancer. I remember what it felt like when I thought I’d been deceived too, finding a vial filled with water instead of some miracle elixir I thought I was after. To tell you now that you maybe could have had something that would cure me… I won’t compound your frustration and guilt. I won’t do it._

_I was angry when you went off alone with him, but if I'm honest, I was really just afraid. Afraid you wouldn't see him for the snake he is, afraid he would dangle promises in front of you all while leading you to slaughter like a sacrificial lamb._

_I should have given you more credit. I'm sorry I let my fear turn me into an asshole._

_I’m embarking out on my own now for the same reasons you did these past few days. I want to try to fix this without you getting hurt. I don’t know if I will succeed, but I have to try._

***

**Scully**

Initially, I thought the worst part of this whole thing was seeing the disappointment and anger on Mulder’s face. At first I felt indignant (Who was _he_ to talk, given the number of times he’s run off on his own?), but after the blank disc and the empty office, I started thinking maybe he was right to be disappointed in me.

And then it seemed the worst part was having been so thoroughly played for a fool. I thought I was so clever. I thought _I_ could play _him_ , that I could pretend to go along with his demands but still maintain the upper hand in the end. How incredibly naive. There wasn’t a moment after we left my apartment that I was in control.

Finding out I had been used so comprehensively threw me for a loop. Mulder and the Gunmen explained how my email had been hacked and cloned, showed me the messages that had been sent in my name. Well, the Gunmen did most of the explaining. Mulder mostly glowered. Seeing it there on the screen, evidence of months of correspondence between Cobra and someone pretending to be me, made me sick to my stomach. That this could have all been going on, for as long as it did, while I was none the wiser, is nearly impossible to believe.

It is only now, days later, that I finally realize even _this_ wasn’t the worst part.

Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about those last few moments before Cobra’s death. Because I have woken up in a cold sweat four times in the past three nights, haunted by the look on his face when he realized he’d been set up. When he thought _I’d_ set him up. Because my stomach still turns at the memory of watching the bullet hit him, watching him fall over the side of his boat, struggling and failing to grab hold of him as shots were fired at me, too.

Because I _know_ , now, that if I had just walked away after I woke up in the lake house, he might still be alive. If I’d failed to turn up at our rendezvous, he probably never would have come out of hiding. And all his work, all that science, never would have fallen into the hands of that double-crossing, cigarette-smoking son of a bitch.

In trying to do the “right” thing, I only messed everything up. An innocent and arguably brilliant man is dead, and life-saving, world-changing information has been stolen by someone who will only use it for personal gain.

My instincts in this case were so utterly, disastrously wrong, and because of that, I became an instrument of the very group of men responsible for some of the greatest evil I have ever encountered. _That_ is the thing I am not likely to get over for a very long time.


End file.
